


Silent Night (Emphasis on the Silent)

by K9Lasko



Category: NCIS
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Gen, Humor, Short, Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 03:17:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8732719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K9Lasko/pseuds/K9Lasko
Summary: Tony never fails to annoy the hell out of Gibbs, and what's worse, they're stuck in an enclosed space together.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Day 2 of the LJ Happy Holidays Challenge. Theme: Silent Night.
> 
> Set either season 1 or 2. Rated for language only. Pretty much pure fluff.

The stake-out has reached its eleventh hour and nerves are fraying. 

 

Tony, dressed in a santa suit with the fake beard on stand-by, and Gibbs, dressed in his typical off-the-rack Sears suit, sit in a parked car not far from the shopping mall’s busy entrance. Tony has already made a secretly dirty joke about “parking,” only to be met with a blank stare from Gibbs. And when he attempts to explain, Gibbs says he doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about, nor does he care, and yes, he’s seen Back to the Future, all of them actually.

 

If Tony is impressed, he doesn’t linger on it, because the agency-issued sedan seems _tiny_ after eleven hours trapped inside it, and he’s _aching_ to bust open the door and lay the hurt on some dirtbags. So — much to Gibbs’ chagrin — he’s been exerting his energy through his lungs and mouth and tongue, in a totally PG way — _talking,_ and talking some more. Did he mention talking?

 

Well, maybe not entirely PG. 

 

“ _Fuck_ , this music is really getting irritating,” Tony says, referring to the live feed they are listening to from inside the shopping mall, where McGee and Kate are stationed. Right now, the looping soundtrack is once again on an awful rendition of “Santa Baby.” “This song…” Tony moans.

 

“Just be glad you’re not in here dressed like an elf and surrounded by screaming children,” McGee’s voice interrupts.

 

“Very apropos, Probie. I saw you in your outfit. You looked adorable,” Tony says. The smirk in his voice is clearly audible. “But lucky you’re not trapped in this car whilst wearing a Santa suit requisitioned from Abby’s friend’s girlfriend’s uncle named Earl!”

 

“Lucky you’re not—” McGee begins to respond.

 

“Lucky you’re all not sitting here seriously doubting the reasons why all of you are still employed by this agency,” Gibbs warns, although everybody knows it’s aimed primarily at Tony, not McGee, because Tony is Gibbs’ go-to scapegoat. And maybe that’s unfair, but Tony takes it, each and every time — willingly, too. That was a lot of words at once for Gibbs, so it earns him a reprieve. Unfortunately, he has to break the silence. “Kate? Sit-rep.”

 

“Oh, she’s… occupied,” McGee says. “She’s been busy being Santa’s elfette.”

 

“It’s just _elf,”_ Kate suddenly says. She’s clearly pissed off and rapidly reaching some sort of wall of tolerance. “There’s no such thing as an elfette!”

 

Despite the spirited discussion, Tony has never taken his eyes from the throngs of holiday shoppers. This is the weekend before Christmas, so the crowd is as thick as Nonna DiNozzo’s world famous spumoni, and they’re looking for one person. It’s now 19:30, so it’s been dark for hours, but the mall’s lighting is decent, complete with all the blinking, somewhat blinding holiday displays.

 

“Well, Kate,” Tony says, his tone conciliatory, “if it’s any consolation, I’m sure you also look adorable.”

 

Kate simply warns, “DiNozzo, when I get out of here, I’m gonna put my elf boot so far up your—“

 

“Santa Baby” transitions into “Feliz Navidad,” which has Tony groaning again. “Boss, I think this qualifies as some kind of enhanced interrogation technique. It’s unconstitutional. How ‘bout you let me out to stretch? Or maybe take a piss?”

 

“No,” Gibbs says. “Stay put. You’ll live.”

 

“You say that, but…” Tony whines, “this Santa suit is Hell on Earth. Forget Peace on Earth…” Despite himself, he begins humming “Feliz Navidad.” It’s catchy, he’ll give it that. When that song switches to “Jingle Bells,” he asks Gibbs, while chewing on a finger nail and then rubbing the spit on his red Santa pants, “So what’s your favorite holiday carol?”

 

Gibbs says nothing for several seconds. Then he answers, simply, “Silent Night.”

 

“Hm,” Tony nods. “That’s a good one. Why?” 

 

“Because it’s silent.”

 

“Not exactly, it goes a little like…” He begins to hum.

 

Gibbs says, “Emphasis on the _silent.”_

 

“Oh, I see what you’re doing,” Tony says. “But is it a carol, technically? Aren’t carols happy? Upbeat? Silent Night is more of a… what? Hymn? Church song?”

 

“A hymn is a church song, basically,” says Gibbs. “I thought you were Catholic?”

 

“I am.”

 

“And carols can be hymns.” Gibbs seems beyond annoyed, which isn’t unusual, especially after several hours being subjected to Tony’s disconnected rambling thoughts. Forget about the holiday songs on an infinite loop, being stuck in a vehicle with _Tony_ ought to be a form of bonafide torture. But Gibbs resists blurting that in Tony’s face. To his young agent’s credit, he just wants to work, not sit here for hours and hours, slowly becoming one with the sedan’s pleather interior. Still, he gets in some pointed words, on general principle, “So yes, DiNozzo, Silent Night is a carol.”

 

Tony starts to say something else, the meaning of it entirely irrelevant to anything.

 

Gibbs interrupts, “ _Silent_ Night.”

 

“Oh okay.” Tony gives his boss a sober nod. He keeps his watch on the crowd, and he manages to keep his mouth shut for five agonizingly long minutes. Then… “I’m sorry, I just have to say, _my_ favorite carol is—“

 

“NOBODY CARES,” Gibbs says.

 

In the background, McGee mutters, “Thank you, sweet baby Jesus.”

 

“Hey,” Tony protests, scandalized, and maybe even a little bit offended. 

 

Gibbs looks at him and notes how ridiculous his senior field agent looks in that Santa suit.

 

Tony notices that he’s being studied, and he feels a little self-conscious. “What?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

Tony scowls. “I think this guy is a no-show today. We’ve probably all wasted a lot of tax payer dollars.”

 

“Maybe,” Gibbs remarks. “But—“

 

“Boss,” McGee says over the wire. “I think I see him.”

 

“What!” Tony says. “Did he get past us?”

 

“No, probably came in through the side entrance,” Gibbs says. He says to Tony, “What are you waiting for, bubba? An engraved invitation?”

 

“YES!” Tony reaches for the door handle. “Finally!”

 

But Gibbs catches his arm. “Don’t forget your beard and hat.”

 

Tony grins and puts them both in place. “How do I look?”

 

“Like you need to gain a few pounds to look the part.”

 

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Listen in!” Tony then takes off towards the entrance. He’s young; he has exuberance and energy to spare.

 

Gibbs never wants to see that energy flag, but he knows he will, someday. They all hit the ground running, but it’s hard to keep up the pace forever. He presses his thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose. He mumbles, to himself, “I’ve got your six.”

 

No matter how irritating, how annoying, how soul-crushingly _blah-blah-blah-blah_ Tony “I wish I could punch you in the mouth to shut you up” DiNozzo is, Gibbs’ll always have his six. Why? That’s just the way it is, and the way it’ll always be. The way it should be.

 

And it’s funny, maybe a bit ironic, because while Gibbs listens in on his agents doing what they do best, he hears over the radio:

 

_“Silent night,_

_Holy night,_

_All is calm,_

_All is bright…”_

 


End file.
